


Hold Your Action

by Frostfire



Category: White Collar
Genre: Dom/sub, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-01
Updated: 2010-09-01
Packaged: 2018-10-03 14:45:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10249094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frostfire/pseuds/Frostfire
Summary: Neal and El top Peter.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For the Kink Bingo prompt "silence."

Neal arrives at their place around seven; they have a couple of hours in which they could conceivably be talking about a case, having a late dinner, something innocuous. El's had a glass of wine and Peter's had a couple; they’ve learned that he can't be uptight while they're doing this, or it _will not_ work.

He and El are making out on the couch, lazily, El just coming up to kneel over him, hands loosely holding his wrists, when the outer door clicks open: Neal's lockpicks. He slips in through the inner door and stops, watching. Peter inhales deeply, smelling El all around him, and closes his eyes.

Neal comes up next to El, not too close; Peter can hear him, feel him standing there. "Look at him," says Neal, his voice low.

"Sexy as hell," says Elizabeth. She shifts to the side, pulling Peter's left wrist over towards his right, almost behind his head, to give Neal space.

“I still can’t believe it,” says Neal, and Peter opens his eyes to Neal's intense scrutiny, which always runs over his body like a touch, like a tangible thing. He shifts his hips under Elizabeth's thighs. This is the strangest moment, always: the first touch leaves him wanting to jerk back, cut Neal off, say _what the hell do you think you’re doing?_ Neither of them can really believe they’re doing this, when it comes right down to it.

When Neal's hands spread over his chest, he can feel them like they're reaching beneath his skin, all the way down. He forgets Elizabeth's grip until his wrists come up against it, trying to move. She tightens her hands, and he turns toward her while Neal unbuttons his shirt; El kisses him, soft and deep, then pulls back a little, keeping him waiting. The next kiss is shorter but just as soft, the next a little longer, the next even longer--he’s so focused on her touch, the smell of her, on getting the kiss after this one, that he’s surprised when Neal leans in to say into his ear, "Lean forward a little, Peter."

El loosens her grip for the bare instant it takes Neal to slide the shirt over his shoulders, down his arms and off; then she pins his hands again, opens his mouth with her tongue while Neal kisses Peter's chest. Neal's kisses are quick, biting things; sometimes they sting and sometimes they leave marks, and they’re not like anything Peter expected from Neal, back when he used to (briefly, guiltily) fantasize about this.

His zipper is loud as it comes down; El pulls back to look at his face as Neal reaches into his boxers and pulls his dick out. Peter pants for air; he wants her mouth back, but he needs the oxygen if Neal's going to lean in, mouth open--he looks down.

Neal sucks cock like a virtuoso; he's as good at it as anyone Peter's ever slept with, and from the first time, he's known exactly what Peter wants, when he wants it, how hard, what speed. He can read Peter's body almost as well as Elizabeth can, and he gets better every time.

He starts out shallow this time, his tongue flickering around the head, then bends his head further and sucks. His mouth is unbelievable. Peter wants to thrust his hips up, push deeper, and even as he thinks it, Neal takes a quick breath and slides all the way down. Peter’s wrists jerk in Elizabeth’s hands, and he bites down hard on his lower lip.

“Good,” El whispers in his ear, and he shudders, pushes up into Neal’s mouth. But that’s a mistake; Neal pulls back and off. Peter exhales hard, clenches his teeth.

“Peter,” says Elizabeth, and it’s quelling, a little reproachful. He nods: whoops.

It’s hard to feel sorry in a second, though, because Neal leans down to kiss Elizabeth, a heavy, serious kiss, her hand coming off of Peter’s wrist to clench in Neal’s hair, his thumb stroking over her breast, Neal finally conceding with a moan and pulling back. “Upstairs,” he says.

“Go on ahead,” says El, and Neal nods and makes for the stairs. El turns to Peter, takes him in: stretched out on the couch, hands over his head, hard dick hanging out. He raises his eyebrows: good enough for you?

“You’re beautiful,” she says, and when they’re like this, he can believe it.

 

 

Upstairs, Neal has stripped naked and draped himself across the bed like an art project, broken only by the thick black line of the anklet; Peter breathes out his laugh and glances at El before taking off the rest of his own clothes. He goes to lie next to Neal and El fits herself in behind him, soft and warm against his back. She kisses between his shoulder blades, and he closes his eyes for a second.

While they’re closed, Neal kisses him softly, sensual in a way that Peter has never been able to manage himself; he teases Peter’s mouth open, slides his tongue inside, strokes it against Peter’s, bites gently. Peter lets it happen, opens to it, starts to think he might never need to breathe again. When Neal pulls back, it takes him a minute to realize his eyes are still closed.

“Up,” Neal says, and Peter shifts, turns around to see El moving up to the headboard, opening her legs. He can feel the smile starting, and she laughs a little.

“Go on,” she says, and he goes on, tongue-first. He’s good at this, and he knows El better than anyone by now, knows exactly what she likes. Neal is shifting around behind him, and he licks a little faster, because it’s better to get El on her way before Neal starts distracting him. He can’t hurry too much, though; he loves El’s taste, loves licking her, the way she moves against his mouth, the noises she makes. She whines above him, and he licks faster.

He isn’t surprised when Neal’s fingers dip between his cheeks; he and El never got into anal play, but by now Peter’s learned to shower before they start, because Neal Caffrey is always willing to boldly go. This time, Neal strokes over Peter’s hole slowly, a firm touch that leaves him wanting to push back a little. “Peter,” he says, “do you know what you look like? I wish you could see yourself; it’s like, it’s like if Michelangelo did pornography.”

Peter huffs out a little laugh, making El twitch against him, while Neal leaves his quick, biting kisses against Peter’s spine. Peter loses his own rhythm for a second when Neal laves his tongue over the small of his back; he has to pull back from El and pant for a second, and then that thick, wet touch trails down and down and _down_.

Peter wants, he really _wants_ to say _oh no, Neal, not going there, quit that already_. Instead, he takes a shuddering breath as Neal licks wetly across his hole, and puts his tongue back on El’s clit. She threads her fingers through his hair. “That’s so good, honey,” she says, “right there.”

Neal licks around his fingers, _tonguing Peter’s ass_ like it’s nothing; Peter tries to concentrate on El, but it’s difficult. It feels too good, what Neal’s doing; Peter was so hard already and this is making him squirm, all those little wet touches going right to his cock. And when Neal licks right _into_ him, his fingers clench in the sheets and he pushes his own tongue inside Elizabeth to keep from making any noise.

Neal pulls back just a little, traces a finger around his hole, and then slides it in and licks around it as he hits Peter’s prostate; Peter pulls back from El again, swallows and gives her an apologetic look. She strokes his hair, and he shudders while Neal rubs his prostate; he’s reaching the point where he could come if Neal would just--

“Push yourself up a little,” says Neal, pulling back; Peter wants the tongue back despite himself (of course; Neal never does anything new unless he already knows Peter will love it) but he shifts further up onto his knees, and Neal gives Peter a second finger just as he wraps his other hand around Peter’s cock.

Peter drags in air as Neal jerks him--once, twice, and he’s coming, eyes closed, teeth clenched, spasming around Neal’s fingers. Oh, Christ, it’s good.

Neal lets him collapse on the sheets, and he pants for a while, getting his bearings back. Sex with Neal always leaves him reeling; it’s enough that it’s actually _happening_ , and then that he can let _go_ with Neal like he can with El, and then the things that Neal actually _does_ , and then he ends up sprawled on a come-stained bed with his bones turned to liquid.

He shifts himself eventually, turns around enough to see El lowering herself onto Neal, teasingly, bit by bit. Neal’s smile is wickedly happy, and he has his hands on her hips, waiting.

He breaks first; he shifts his hips, and she holds up a finger, “That’s cheating.”

“Okay,” he says, “you win. I lose. _Move_.”

And she does. Losing to El is its own kind of pleasure.

Peter loves watching them together, the way they bounce off of each other, laughing, they way they always somehow meet in the middle, and that the middle is _him_. He reaches out as Neal twists underneath El, and grabs his hand. Neal grips him hard, reaching up with his other hand to trace over El’s breast, slide his thumb over a nipple. She rolls her hips and he gasps, traces the hand down over her stomach to rub at her clit. He keeps it up, and her hips start moving faster, until she says, “ _Oh_ ,” and comes. Neal shudders under her, bites his lip until she’s done and then lets go of Peter’s hand and takes hold of her hips again; he thrusts up, and again--and again, and he’s coming too.

They detach themselves, get rid of the condom, and end up sprawled in a sweaty heap next to Peter, with Neal in the middle. He’s on his back, looking up at the ceiling; Peter traces a finger over his hipbone.

“Thank you,” says Neal, eventually. He always thanks them.

“Our pleasure,” says El. “Always.”

Peter keeps his fingers tracing over Neal’s hip. He meets El’s eyes over Neal’s body; she looks contented. She loves this, he knows; she loves Neal, loves how Peter is about Neal, how Neal gives him something he wants so much. Even if he probably shouldn’t have it.

He checks the clock: eight-thirty. “Neal,” he says.

Neal puts a hand over his eyes. “Five more minutes.”

Peter looks at him until he takes the hand away and sighs. “Okay.” He gets up and heads for the bathroom.

“Don’t use up all the hot water!” Peter calls after him. “He’s going to use up all the hot water,” he says to El.

El shifts so that she can cuddle up to him. “Oh, you love him.”

Peter sighs. “Yes.”  



End file.
